Something Far Worse
by Miss Pseudonymous
Summary: What if Darcy did not find Wickham, and Mr. Bennet died, leaving his disgraced wife and daughters to fend for themselves? What will Elizabeth do to secure the comfort of her family?


Mr. Darcy sprang down wearily from the saddle, landing heavily and splashing his boots with mud. He threw the reins to his head groom, who ran out in the downpour to serve his master, and was halfway to the front door of his London townhouse when a small figure emerged from the shadow of a tree and approached him, hand outstretched. Darcy squinted in the fading light and discerned an unkempt street urchin, a boy no more than ten years old, extending a folded billet. He took it cautiously, and shielded it from the rain while turning to the street lamp to make out its direction. "Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy," was written in a precise, sloping, and rapidly blurring feminine hand.

Mr. Darcy dug into his pocket and tossed the boy a coin. "Best get yourself down to the kitchen and dry off. Tell Marcel to give you something hot to eat." He gestured to the path leading around the house, and the boy ran off, having abruptly and none too coherently voiced his astonishment and gratitude.

Darcy himself sprinted up the steps and cast his wet raiment into the hands of his waiting butler. He opened the letter while striding through the entrance hall on his way to the grand staircase, but stopped abruptly when he saw the signature at the bottom of the single sheet. It was from her.

* * *

He stood observing her for a few minutes before approaching. She was indeed seated on the designated bench, dressed in a black toilette unmitigated by any show of lace or ribbon. Her inability to keep her seat, her pacing up and down the short path, while alternately wringing her hands and then clenching them in an effort to control her obvious anxiety, were all testament to the perturbation of her thoughts.

He stepped forward. "Miss Bennet."

She turned quickly, a mixture of relief and panic written all over her face. "Mr. Darcy! You came!"

He took her hand and bent over it. "I would have come sooner, but that I have been out of Town until yesterday."

"Surely you have not come straight here!" She exclaimed, agitated. "I beg your pardon for troubling you! I would not, truly, importune you, unless I was as desperate as I am."

"I would do anything in my power to serve you. Your note seemed to indicate urgency, and great distress." He waited until she was once again seated, and took his place beside her, looking down at her mourning. "I have heard about your father. Please accept my sincerest condolences. He was a good man."

She seemed to deflate, and her eyes filled with tears. "Yes. I do miss him terribly. But I hope I am not being undutiful when I lament his poor management and failure to provide for his children in the event of his passing, which I am sure he did not anticipate any more than did any of his unfortunate children."

Mr. Darcy's brows came together. "He did not leave his affairs in good order?"

She gave a short laugh. "No. I would not even say he left them in abysmal order. He left us with almost nothing but my mother's five thousand pounds, which were to provide our dowries, but now will not even house and feed us for an appreciable length of time."

"But surely, a steward can be found to manage the estate, and with a little economy…"

She interrupted him. "Longbourne was entailed away from the female line. It falls to Mr. Collins, who will take possession before Christmas."

He was speechless for a few moments. "I am very sorry; I had no idea. What will you do?"

"You may as well avoid all attempt at politeness and ask outright, what will become of us. It is this question which is occupying my every faculty at present, and in which I thought perhaps you could advise me."

"I can only repeat with greater emphasis what I said earlier – I am ready to serve you in any way I can."

She blushed, "You can not be ignorant of the tragedy which befell my youngest sister, Lydia. Of course we all share in her disgrace and all ordinary avenues of salvation are closed to us. Jane and I posted down to London two weeks ago to look for suitable occupations, but no family of Quality or even decency would consider inviting women of such loose morals into their houses. We began optimistically, but could find no establishment open to us. We applied as governesses, companions, school-teachers, and even, in a moment of insane desperation, ladies' maids. There is nothing above a lower servant open to us, and – I just cannot resign myself to that!"

"You do not deserve this."

"No, of course. But the rules of every polished society dictate that we are tainted by association. And truthfully, I can even enter into their feelings. There must have been that something in Lydia's upbringing which allowed her to take such a disastrous step, and it cannot be denied that we were reared in the same surroundings."

"You cannot possibly compare yourself to your sister! You have done nothing wrong!"

"No, but I am treated as though I had. And I begin to think that if I am to suffer for something, I may as well be guilty of it."

Mr. Darcy's brows rose. "Am I to understand that you are planning a failed elopement of your own?"

"Oh no," she laughed. "Something far worse. Although, ironically, something that is far more readily accepted by polite society."

At his quizzical look, she turned away to hide the blush that briefly suffused her cheeks. She seemed to steel herself with difficulty, and continued bravely.

"It is customary for gently-bred girls to pretend ignorance of that which, as a fallen woman, I may now admit we all know very well about – if not the precise nature of the transaction, at least its existence."

He paled a little as her meaning began to make itself clear.

"I understand that gentlemen not wishing to commit to the strictures of marriage, sometimes arrange to enjoy the… benefits… of the married state without being subject to its limitations.

"I believe I have hit upon the only solution to our difficulties which can hope to support my mother and sisters in the style to which they are accustomed. I shall have to fob them off with some Banbury story, of course, because their morals are far better than my own, and they would all gladly commit themselves to the scullery rather than see me in the position which I propose to assume. I am not so good however, only prosaic, and can think of nothing but avoiding penury and hardship, and if I have to sell my self and my morals to secure the comfort of my family, I begin to think it is worth the price. I wonder if being a man's mistress may not prove to be more comfortable than being his wife. A woman is not paid for her participation in a marriage of convenience."

"It is your bitterness which speaks thus. You do not understand the magnitude of what you are proposing."

"No, I don't, of course. I was hoping you could help me understand it."

It was Mr. Darcy's turn to blush. "And you take me for a man who has experience in these matters?"

"Not a man who would admit it to a gentleman's daughter, certainly. But perhaps a man who has been used to moving in society for the last decade and has had opportunity to observe other men and their habits."

"Let us say that I have. What are you asking of me?"

Elizabeth exhaled and lifted her chin defiantly. "Find me a position." After some hesitation, she added hurriedly, "I do not know if my naivete and inexperience hinders or improves my chances, but I imagine a willing parte can be found."

Mr. Darcy searched her face silently for a few full minutes. Elizabeth was determined to prove her resolve, and although breathing heavily, refused to break away from his gaze.

At last he stated, rather than asked, "You are not offering yourself to me."

"Heavens, no!" She cast down her eyes and raised her hands in an involuntary gesture to cool her burning cheeks. "I could never be so forward! Even if I were so indelicate as to recall that you once loved me, I can no longer suppose that any tender feelings could survive the blow of my disgrace. I thought, merely, that I could impose upon you, in the memory of what you once thought you felt for me, to help me in my predicament, by way of introducing me into those circles within which I may find my own way at becoming creditably established."

His voice was low. "Then you would not accept an offer from me?"

Her breath caught, but as she looked up, she saw the same look in his eyes, that same gaze she remembered which had first puzzled, and then haunted her, from their previous acquaintance the previous Autumn.

Tears sprang to her eyes. "Please, Mr. Darcy, please! I beg you, do not make me this offer out of pity! You can have no notion how difficult it was to approach you in all this honesty, but I beg you will not feel obligated to take responsibility upon yourself!"

"And if I tell you that I still love you?"

"You must not! You can not! I… I will not trespass on your kindness any further than in begging from you a very little assistance in the way I have described, and nothing more."

"I will level with you, Miss Elizabeth. I have never kept a woman under my protection, but I'll be damned if I let you fall into the hands of any other man! A man who may treat you… in a way I will not be crass enough to voice to you." He possessed himself of her hands. "It is not only fear for your welfare which prompts me to speak thus – it is fierce jealousy and an ardent love which has never abated since I first expressed it to you last April. I thought I could forget you; I did not. I could not. I thought I must leave you to find your own happiness apart from me, but now that seems impossible, and I must make another push to secure you. I would for no other reason plague you again with my attentions, but that fate seems to have intervened."

She could say nothing. The beating of her heart would not allow it. But she was crying in earnest now.

He extended a handkerchief. "Don't cry, my dear, I won't press you any further. Are you still so set against me? Is any other, unknown man, better to you than I could be? Do you not think you could learn to tolerate me, if not care for me?"

"Oh," she gasped, dashing the tears from her eyes. "Could I care for you! Could I! I do, I have, cared for you – have loved you, hopelessly, for months! If you only knew how I have berated myself for my words to you – how I have regretted my foolishness, my pride and my prejudice – which kept me from realizing sooner that you were the only man I could ever be prevailed upon to love!"

"My darling!" he exclaimed, and swept her into his arms, with both words and actions expressing everything as warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do.

After some time, Elizabeth was comfortably tucked against Mr. Darcy's chest, her head resting on his shoulder at an angle that allowed her to observe minutely how very much the expression of heartfelt delight, diffused over his face, became him.

"If only I had had my eyes opened months ago, we would be so happy now!" she sighed.

"Are you not happy, my dear?"

"Of course I am! I only meant that we would have been safely married, and none of the intervening misery could have kept us apart."

"It will not keep us apart."

"But we cannot be married."

" You mean to say that society would never tolerate it."

"Of course."

"And what if I have no ambitions to satisfy the _ton_ and am thinking only of my own happiness?"

"You are not at liberty to do so. Your sister's happiness depends on your strict propriety."

"That is true."

"I tried to prevent it, Elizabeth. I scoured London for days trying to find Wickham. I thought I would pay him to marry your sister quickly enough to camouflage the truth. But do what I could, I could not find him."

She sat up and cradled his face in her hands. "You did all this for me."

"I'm so sorry, my love." He furrowed his brows and sat thinking for some time, mindlessly stroking Elizabeth's hair. Suddenly, a smile overspread his face, and he grasped her by the shoulders. "I have it!"

* * *

Mr Darcy and Miss Bennet never parted from that day forward and lived together, retired in the country, away from the prying eyes and judgmental frowns of the ton. Their alliance did not much hinder Georgiana's chances, and she soon contracted a suitable and celebrated marriage.

With the passing of time, one on-dit replaced another, until it was more commonplace than scandalous that Fitzwilliam's and Elizabeth's children populated the nurseries and trampled the grounds of Pemberley. Their parents remained as devoted to one another as they had grown to be in that fateful year of 1812. Occasionally when they were alone, strolling through the tree-lined paths of Pemberley, or sitting comfortably in front of a quiet fire on a dark evening, they would exchange a private smile, that dangerous twinkle in Elizabeth's eye would set her face alight, and her husband's hand would move to pat his inner breast pocket. There lay always, folded and worn, a copy of a document they had signed together on the border of Scotland in the year 1812.

* * *

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